Curse of a Damned Love
by FatesMistake
Summary: First in a three part Cursed series. Three unrelated stories about the curse of humanity. Harry has a moment with Snape when he drags himself clear of the frozen pond. What should have been purely physical becomes more in his mind. Snape has cursed him with a forbidden feeling. Not EWE, except that it expands on it. Slightly AU. Rated T for a reason.
1. Curse of a Damned Love

Curse of a Damned Love:

Harry sat, half-naked and shivering, on the snow of the pond's embankment. He had the sword, and he'd survived the ring…but there was nothing to say he would survive the hypothermia he could feel settling into his bones. His joints had already seized to the point that he was certain he couldn't make the trip back to the tent, and the relative safety of Hermione's wards. He would die out here, frozen to death beside a pond masquerading as a lake. And for what? Ron was gone, he and Hermione were entirely alone in the world now. Up against a madman who had either enslaved or cowed the entirety of Wizarding Britain.

Harry started as a large, heavy weight fell upon his shoulders. The warming charm on the black fabric was like fire on his icy skin. His head shot up to see Snape standing very near to him. The black eyes were as cold and dark as ever, but his stance spoke to his wary discomfort. Harry scowled. If he'd had the energy, he told himself, Snape would already be a red smear on the white powder that shielded the Earth beneath their feet.

"Shouldn't you be off killing some little girl's puppy or something?" Harry bit out instead.

Snape scoffed. "The world is not so black and white, Potter. You should know that by now."

"You killed Dumbledore. There is no gray area."

"I don't have to explain myself to a spoiled brat with no respect for his elders."

Harry grunted as he felt feeling returning to his limbs. If nothing else, he had to be grateful for the warmth he'd been provided. Snape turned to go, and Harry stumbled to his feet after him.

"You can't just leave!"

"I can, and I shall," Snape bit out. "I have done my duty this night."

"Duty to whom?"

"I don't expect your miniscule mind to comprehend my purpose here, Potter."

Harry grabbed him. "Try me."

The kiss was hard and bruising, and far from the explanation Harry had been looking for. His first instinct was obviously to either pull away or shove the man off of him, but the insistence was contagious. So instead he bit down. It wasn't a tongue he captured angrily in his teeth, but a thin lower lip, and it didn't have the effect it should have. Rather than pulling away, Snape only seemed encouraged.

When slim fingers slithered under the heavy cloak to glide across Harry's skin, he was reminded that he was in nothing but his skivvy's and the cloak he'd been provided. His nerves, shot as they were, sparked angrily wherever he was touched. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, Snape's fingers burning across his skin as feeling slowly returned to his body. In fact, the more it happened, the more Harry wanted it to happen, never mind the man who was causing the sensation. He had never been touched like this, like he was more than needed; like he was wanted. Desire grew and crackled between them like a thunderous cloud.

There was no explanation, and none would have been sufficient, but Harry found himself pressed against a tree. The thick cloak still dangling off his shoulders protected his back from the rough bark as Snape pushed against him bodily. Harry wrapped his arms loosely around a stiff neck as he was picked up, his legs wrapping around slim hips in the frigid air. The glide of his erection against another was so much that he threw his head back, and it bounced indelicately off of the tree. A hand went immediately to soothe the hurt, but it wasn't his own. The touch of Snape's fingers, caressing the lump growing on his head in what might have been concern, broke the Wizarding Savior. Tears slipped silently over his cheeks as a hard mouth suckled at his throat.

"S-Snape-"

"Silence."

Harry nodded and pulled that mouth back up to his own as their hips writhed against each other, pressed against a tree. He couldn't have said what was in him, even if he'd been allowed to continue. Emotions warred in his heart as the steam of their breath mingled. He was angry, and he was hurt, but in this moment he was desperate for the human contact he was being given. In this moment, the weight of the world had slipped off his shoulders like so much water. He would have to pick it up again, as well as the shattered remnants of his sanity, but for now he just wanted to _feel_. Snape seemed more than happy to oblige him.

Orgasm crashed over him with a violence that darkened his vision with blinding clarity. When his vision cleared, he was kneeling in the snow, shaking under the weight of Snape's cloak and what he'd just done. Snape was already walking across the embankment of the pond. He didn't stop or turn, and Harry forced his feet under him. He was stumbling again, and almost toppled to his knees again twice, but he reached Snape with a determination he'd thought he'd lost. His hand grabbed a thin wrist, and Snape tried to jerk free, but Harry pulled him back, kissing him soundly. The kiss was, at least, eagerly returned.

"Stay safe."

There was a stiff nod, and then Snape was gone. Harry trembled under the cloak around his shoulders. His tired, cold muscles were far overworked, and he still had to walk back to Hermione. Drawing a deep breath that ghosted in the winter's night air, Harry forced his limbs to cooperate as he dressed in his damp clothing. He threw the cloak over top of his muggle clothes and started to trek back. With each step, his mind lingered farther and farther behind, trapped in the clearing by the pond. He didn't dare consciously think about what had just happened. Snape was the enemy, period. Yet he had, with violent acuity, hardened Harry's resolve in a war he should never have been asked to fight. Where his friends had failed, Snape had won.

Snape, without meaning to, had become the most important man in the war against Voldemort. Harry couldn't make himself doubt that it had been Snape who'd left the sword for him. Merlin only knew why he'd put it at the bottom of a frozen pond, but it had to have been him. He'd done his duty, as had Harry. But it was that little bit extra that haunted the seventeen year old. Neither of them had been forced, and yet they had shared an angry intimacy that had settled like a stone in Harry's heart. What had he just done? And why did it matter so much that he had?

 _-Break-_

When Harry had returned to the tent, it had been to find Ron waiting anxiously. The prodigal traitor had returned. Harry's forgiveness was more eagerly won than Hermione's. In a world where he was no longer sure about the men [man] he'd presumed the enemy, he could ill-afford to turn away those he knew to be a friend.

In the ensuing months, Harry thought again and again of that night in the woods by the pond. His mind, scattered as it was by impending insanity, focused on such small details that grew in his mind. The cloak, stowed away in a pocket of Hermione's bag, became a beacon of strong emotion that no longer resembled hatred. The soothing of potion-stained fingers on his injured head brought remembered tears burning behind his eyes. The marking of the angry red line where the necklace had cut into his skin, a bruise that had lasted longer than the mark of the necklace itself, became a symbol in his mind of kindness and caring long after it had ceased to appear on his skin.

And so, when Harry saw Snape fall in the Shrieking Shack, he had raced to his side with a torn heart. His hand went immediately to stem the flow of blood, but he knew when he saw those partially closed black eyes that he was already too late. He collected the memories with a heavy heart, at Snape's behest. He found himself reluctant to meet the black gaze as the thin chest heaved with shallow gasps.

"Look at me."

Harry had. There was nothing else he could have done, nothing to be said, no reparations to make. They had made their choices, and had acted out the predestined stories of their lives, two stories that had tangled together so much that they might have been one in the same. He gazed into black eyes, watched the flicker of life begin to die deep in the ceaseless pools. It didn't matter that Ron and Hermione were watching, or that an enemy could come through the door in the next moment. In this moment, in this terrifying final second before death would claim the man who deserved it the least, there was nothing but they two. In a disturbed, stomach-churning image only a truly mad artist could conjure, Harry leaned down and captured thin lips in a kiss, Snape's final breath ghosting between his lips in a horrifying testament of mortality. There were no Gods amongst men, and the one man who might have been had rejoined his immortal brethren in the pantheon above the world.

After Harry had reviewed the painful memories of a little boy who wanted nothing more than to belong in a world that wanted nothing to do with him, Harry thought he finally understood. Snape had loved his mother, and had carried her torch for 17 years. Death must have seemed a mercy when it had finally come for him. Still, it failed to explain why he had taken to Harry all those months ago beside a frigid, foreign pond. Then again, everyone else who'd ever known his mother had perhaps explained it well in advance. He had his mother's eyes.

" _Look at me."_

Snape had cursed him with those final words. Harry Potter would forever wonder if he had been loved, if only for a night, or if he had simply played his part in a Shakespearean tragedy that spanned a lifetime. Either way, he had his own Final Act to finish playing. Death waited for no one, and Harry thought he was, perhaps, ready to meet what awaited him in the Forbidden Forest. It would finally end, in the very place it had begun. His burden would be lifted, his duty done. He would finally be free.


	2. One Day

Chp 2:One Day

"Harry we've been tracking some high level spellwork at an address. We need you to check it out."

Harry didn't look up from the report he was filling out. "Can't you send Ron? I've got to get these backdated reports filed, as per your orders."

"Ron's already on assignment." Kingsley answered immediately.

"Cory, then," Harry suggested.

"Everyone is on assignment except you."

"Come on, Kingsley, don't send me on this! It's a rookie assignment!" Harry said, looking up in frustration. "Besides, you told me to get these into your inbox by the end of the day. Can't you do it? Or what about Lisa? She could use the field experience."

"Now I'm giving you until the end of the week," Kingsley said, smirking. "As for me, the whole point of running the department is that I don't have to go chasing magic spikes anymore. I don't want Lisa on this, I want you."

"Ugh!" Harry groaned. He threw his head back before glowering at his boss. "Fine. Send the hardened Vet on a rookie run. What's the story?"

Kingsley shrugged and held up the parchment with the mission summary. "Address isn't listed as a magical residence, and it's on the edge of a Muggle neighborhood. First thought was Muggleborn kid or kids, but the spikes are still shooting off since Hogwarts' term started."

"How long?"

"16 years or so."

"And we're just hearing about it?!" Harry asked incredulously.

"Wasn't a priority, but last week the house hit the radar with a magical explosion that rocked the nearby houses," Kinglsey said, leaning against the opening of Harry's cubicle.

"And again," Harry growled impatiently. "We're just hearing about it now?"

Kingsley shrugged again. "Protocol says they get a warning letter, in case it's an unregistered kid. I want you to go in 'under', in case it still is an unregistered kid with bullies for parents."

Harry smiled knowingly. "Ah, and the truth comes out. You want me 'cause I can be discreet and can sympathize if it's a kid."

"Hit the proverbial nail on the head," Kingsley replied, grinning. "Now go on. I'll see what I can do to expedite your reports."

Harry nodded and took the summary when Kingsley held it out for him. He began to gather what he'd need, grateful that he'd swung a policy change that let him wear Muggle clothing to work. He wouldn't have to go home to change. If the spikes were happening during the day, there was a chance the kid was just being homeschooled by a magical parent. The Gryffindor prayed it hadn't been an abused kid the system had missed. That was the problem with an overworked system. There had been a baby boom following Voldemort's defeat, and sometimes kids got missed. Magical parents could complain if their kid didn't get a Hogwarts letter, but Muggleborns, in spite of being more closely monitored, could still be missed as well. Even magic had it's limits.

 _-Break-_

Harry sucked in a deep breath as he fingered the wand under his long sleeve. These cases were always unpredictable. The chances were good that it was a kid, but it was always possible that some witch or wizard had slithered under the Ministry's radar for long enough that their magic wasn't being tracked. These people tended to be ne'er-do-wells with violence in their veins, and anger in their hearts, especially towards Ministry officials.

Fingering his wand again, Harry knocked on the door, some of the peeling paint flaking off under the force. He waited, shifting on the balls of his feet nervously. Rookie run or not, whatever waited on the other side of the door could still be dangerous. Harry tensed when he heard movement from the other side of the barrier. When the door opened, he was completely unprepared for what he'd find. Words evaded him as he stared in mingled shock and terror. A pale hand darted out of the house and pulled him inside, flinging him carelessly.

Harry stumbled slightly on the runner, and just caught himself before he could fall face first onto the un-sanded wooden floor. He turned, paling slightly, as the door closed and the apparition rounded on him. His throat worked, clicking dryly, until he found a word, any word.

"You're dead."

"It would appear not," The deep baritone growled. Burning black eyes glared at him in the dark hallway.

"I _watched_ you _die_!" Harry argued a little petulantly.

Snape scoffed. "Melodramatic, as always."

"You son of a bitch!" Harry screamed, regaining himself. "You made me watch you die, and you have the _gall_ to call _me_ melodramatic!"

"Did you mourn, Potter?"

"Of course I did!" Harry said, still shouting. "I mourned you and everyone else I lost that day! Did you expect me to dance on your grave?!"

"It was within the realm of possibility."

"Well I didn't, you stupid bastard! I _mourned_ your death, at the grave we had to fill with _ash_ because the Shrieking Shack had burned down in what we'd assumed was the aftermath of the war!" Harry shouted, stepping towards the stoic man. "I suppose I can now safely assume it was _you_ who put countless lives at risk by nearly setting fire to all of Hogsmeade."

"You have a gift for histrionics, Potter. I remained long enough to ensure the fire was contained," Snape explained simply.

Harry, finding his anger had no more words, moved towards the man and raised his fist. His hand was captured before it could connect with a solid jaw, and Snape used the leverage to drag him even closer. The kiss was angry, and bruising. Harry pulled his hand free and pushed against the strong chest, but his hands were shoved aside and his head was grabbed fiercely, drawing him further into the kiss. He balled his fists into the starched white shirt and dragged their bodies together. He needed this even more than he wanted it, and he was old enough now to pray it didn't stop at something as innocent as what had happened almost 20 years ago.

 _-Break-_

Harry placed lazy kisses across a pale chest as he knelt over Snape's body. They were both well spent, but he couldn't seem to get enough of the man. Each kiss reminded him that the Potions Master was still here, still alive, and he wasn't hallucinating. Long, slim fingers, carded through the hair at the back of his head as he continued his ministrations.

"Don't you have a wife you should be returning to?" Snape asked.

Harry sighed and collapsed to the bed, taking some of the sheets with him. He stared up at the yellowed ceiling, trying to slow his breathing. "Not really. She's at the Burrow. By which I mean, she's in Wales, sleeping with Michael Corner."

Snape shifted and put his hands under his head on the pillow. "How long has that been going on?"

"About two years," Harry said with a shrug. He rolled over and started to draw concentric circles on the pale chest, scratching out his own name with his nail.

Snape grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips before holding it firmly on his chest. "Why do you stay if she is unfaithful?"

"I wouldn't exactly call what we just did 'fidelity'. Anyway, we've got three kids together."

"Ah," Snape said as if that explained everything. "Your youngest?"

" _Actually_ at the Burrow," Harry explained, sitting up. "I took the week for myself, because I have a mountain of work to finish at the office."

"Then you do have somewhere to be?"

Harry groaned and nodded, moving to the edge of the bed to grab his clothing from the floor, or what little of it had survived the trek to the bedroom. He slipped on his shorts and slacks in a single unit, standing from the bed.

"I probably should, yeah," He said aloud.

"Will you return?"

Harry looked over his shoulder with a smirk. Snape had shifted to his side, and was staring resolutely at the rumpled bedspread. "That depends."

Snape scowled. "I imagine I am now meant to inquire as to what it depends on?"

Harry grinned and turned back. He leaned over the bed to kiss those thin lips he thought might have been pouting. The kiss deepened, and he wound up half-kneeling on the edge of the mattress. He pulled away to smirk down into the softened black gaze.

"Whether or not you'll be here when I do."

Snape scowled again. "It is fair to say that one day I may not be."

Harry continued to smirk, uninhibited by the foul mood. "Then I pray that day is long in coming." He replied simply. He stood up again, collected his socks, and left the bedroom to find his other clothing.

 _-Break-_

Harry did indeed return to Spinner's End. He had played off the magic spikes with Kingsley, who had agreed that the situation would stay between them. It was a few weeks before he got the chance to go back, but Snape was eagerly awaiting him when he did. Over the course of the next few months, Harry would call on the Potions Master. In the aftermath of their coupling, they would lie again together on the bed. It was in the moments of afterglow that Harry discovered what had happened in 20 years. Under an assumed name, Snape had begun a mail-order Potions business with one or two big clients that kept him comfortable. The Goblins at Gringotts, secretive little bastards, were more than willing to maintain his accounts for him, hidden just under the Ministry's nose.

It was on one such occasion, of lounging in the sweaty comfort of their spent passions, that Snape asked a most unexpected question.

"Would you have married her, if you had known I was alive?"

Harry shrugged, curled against the bony chest. "Who's to say? Maybe."

"That isn't an answer."

"It's a little late for the question," Harry argued. "You've been 'dead' for twenty years. I have no idea what I would have done back then. I was 17, and confused. I'd just fought a war, _won_ a war, that had cost me some of my closest friends. I don't know _what_ I would have done back then. I ask myself all the time now, if I'd have married Ginny if I knew then what I know now, and I don't have an answer, not for either of us."

Snape lifted his arm from Harry's back and rolled away. "Get out."

Harry scoffed, but he wasn't about to argue. He got up and began to dress. He was being asked to leave, but he knew from the tension in the pale, naked shoulders, that he would be back. How could he stay away?

 _-Break-_

It was a few visits later that Harry worked up the courage to ask for his own answers. He still had no idea if he was simply fulfilling the role his mother might have, if she and Snape had been less stubborn as children. So, in the lingering touches of post-coital bliss, he asked the one question that summed up his own feelings.

"Do you love me?"

Snape sighed. "I couldn't say."

Harry nodded, shoving away the sting of tears behind his eyes. It was no more than he'd expected. He rolled away and began to dress again. He wouldn't wait, this time, for some pressing, urgent business to occur to him, or for Snape to remind him that he had a wife and child waiting at home. He needed no encouragement, this time, to escape the grasp of his forbidden emotions.

 _-Break-_

It happened, Harry thought, by accident. Snape had reminded him of his waiting wife and youngest child, and had mentioned his own need to complete an order of potions. They had dressed at the same time. It was a first, as Harry usually left Snape lying comfortably in his bed. But they had both drifted to sleep, wholly by accident, and the sun had been slipping towards the horizon when they awoke. So they had dressed together, and left the bedroom. Harry moved immediately to the front door, expecting Snape to break off any moment for his lab. Instead, the Potions Master had followed him.

"Will I see you again?"

Harry turned, the hand that had been reaching for the door falling back to his side. He smiled endearingly, having grown used to this surprising insecure side to the stoic man. In answer, he drew the taller, older wizard into an insistent kiss. It was immediately returned, as he'd known it would be. When he made to pull away, Snape held tight to him, not letting him go far.

"Would you leave your wife if I asked you?"

Harry smirked. "I couldn't say." Snape glowered, and Harry gave a light chuckle. "I'm not teasing. I honestly won't know until you ask."

Snape sucked in a deep breath. "Will you leave your wife for me?"

Harry felt his heart speed up in his chest, so rapid that it would have been impossible not have skipped a beat or two. He nodded, but when he spoke, it wasn't what he wanted to say. It was what he needed to say.

"You'll have your answer when I have mine."

Harry expected a scowl. He expected to be forced from the house where he would never again be welcome. Instead, Snape offered up a playful smirk and a light kiss.

"One day, Mister Potter."


End file.
